


Prompt: To Kill A King

by EssayOfThoughts



Series: MCU Maximoff Oneshots [132]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Codependency, Gen, Human Experimentation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 18:59:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11697882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts
Summary: The twins curl to sleep around each other, seeking safety in each other’s presence, in their trust. Wanda’s scarlet reach grows, each day across the ocean stretching more and more to the tiny scarlet tags in the children’s minds, the bond to Pietro’s mind strengthening, the scarlet of her hands brighter and bolder, breaking bricks and locks, trucks and tow-vans.Wanda can tear apart a building by the time they stand at the base of Stark’s oh-so impressive tower.





	Prompt: To Kill A King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dewsparkle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dewsparkle/gifts).



> Written as a prompt - readable [Here](http://essayofthoughts.tumblr.com/post/163766326980/prompt-for-wanda-hurting-tony-using-her-powers-on) \- for dewiedawn. Based a little bit (a lot bit) on [This](http://essayofthoughts.tumblr.com/post/161472356845/songbird-again-do-it-do-it-do-it-do-it). Some parts are direct quotes. ODDLY I did not listen to the song that originally inspired this fic, but instead to [some old MLP dubstep](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rOzHpwIJkoo).
> 
> no one judge me.

 

 **i.**  
Later, they will say that they were children. Others, speaking in their defence, will say, “They were only children, they did not understand what they did!”. Others will say, “They were children, lost and hurt and grieving.”

Maybe they were children. Certainly they were hurt and grieving. But in the end, children they may have been, but children of the streets.

You did not survive the streets long, if you did not understand consequences.

 

* * *

 

 **ii.**  
This is how their powers come to them: through pain. That is the watchwords of the guards, after all.  _Order comes through pain._  Wanda knows this is not true: order comes from love. Pietro loves her, so he obeys her. She loves him, so she protects him. They fit into an order consisting of him at her side, abiding by her words, and her at his, commanding their path.

Equal.

But this, this power she gains, is not order. What Wanda gains from the experiments is the true result of pain.

Chaos.

 

* * *

 

 **iii.**  
Strucker says it first,  _They are miracles._  List says,  _Survivors._  The doctors watching the development of their powers those first few days think,  _Freaks._

The guards think,  _These two shall be the new fists of HYDRA._

They think,  _We are obsolete._

They think,  _Hail HYDRA._

 

* * *

 

 **iv.**  
Wanda sees it first - before Pietro hears any whispers, she sees the thoughts in their minds, HYDRA, the skulltopus, the Nazi insignia in red and black high above them all.

Wanda’s hand catches on her brother’s, her scarlet shows him truth.

 

* * *

 

 **v.**  
They grab their things, they snap the locks, break the guns and they  _run._  They spill down the path to Novi Grad in Pietro’s frantic, broken, new-born blue, fleeing to the streets they know like their own veins.

They hide. They watch.

Pietro blurs into his blue, bashing into the bins of the alleyway they hide in/ Wanda’s eyes are a burning scarlet and the children of the streets come to her, “Wanda, Wanda, Wanda,” for they have always known her; she is the street witch who will guide them to safety and they see her scarlet eyes and whisper “witch” and “demon” and “estrie” and come closer still, bony hands begging from bony hands. 

Wanda takes that last name for her own, rises from hiding in the faith that had offered some thin protection from hatred so long as they passed and sinking readily into the waters of the faith that they were born to.

The rage, ever burning, at each betrayal and loss they have suffered, burns brighter.

 

* * *

 

 **vi.**  
“We gave up our selves for  _this?”_ she asks, staring at hands that spurt scarlet in fits and starts, at her brother shaking himself into oblivion.

“For vengeance,” Pietro replies, and Wanda pulls herself tall, pulls the children close around, and they walk.

 

* * *

 

 **vii.**  
They herd the children to aid workers, aid workers who will look the other way if given a handful of purloined dollars, if warped by her ever-bending scarlet, who will miss the brief-blurring blue of her brother’s speed.

They travel through mountains, though borders, through nations, until they see the sea.

“A boat,” Wanda says. “We need a boat.”

 

* * *

 

 **viii.**  
They steal aboard, they and just a few others, children who had not found a place to settle as they hiked. Wanda leaves pieces of scarlet in their minds, shows them how to reach it, to reach her, and promises to return if she can.

She knows she can’t. She will give up everything for this vengeance she and her brother had almost lost at the hands of  _Nazis_ , the hands of those who would have killed their parents.

Their vengeance against the man who killed their parents.

 

* * *

 

 **ix.**  
America’s sky is bleak and blue when they arrive, but brighter than the mountain sky of Sokovia. There is no snow on the ground, just grass and dust, the promise of freedom and the chance to grow.

The American Dream.

Wanda and Pietro have made their own freedom. They no longer want to grow. 

All they want is vengeance.

 

* * *

 

 **x.**  
They note, as they travel, how often Stark crops up. His factories, his products, his face. Where his money, his gracious  _philanthropy,_  goes.

It does not go to Sokovia.

He pours it into his suits, into the vigilante Avengers, into a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, Gulmira, where women wear headscarves like Oma had. Into any place the Avengers have damaged, but not Sokovia.

Wanda wonders if Stark has damaged so many places with his weapons, sold them to so many people to use against so many more, he no longer knows where to send aid in his attempts to make some semblance of amends.

Pietro’s hand strokes over her hair. “Well,” her brother says. “We will show him.”

 

* * *

 

 **xi.**  
The twins curl to sleep around each other, seeking safety in each other’s presence, in their trust. Wanda’s scarlet reach grows, each day across the ocean stretching more and more to the tiny scarlet tags in the children’s minds, the bond to Pietro’s mind strengthening, the scarlet of her hands brighter and bolder, breaking bricks and locks, trucks and tow-vans.

Wanda can tear apart a building by the time they stand at the base of Stark’s oh-so impressive tower.

 

* * *

 

 **xii.**  
The doors open to her scarlet, the guards let them through with a wave. They take stairs rather than an elevator, Pietro’s speed saving them from the sight of the cameras.

They rise.

 

* * *

 

 **xiii.**  
This is vengeance: Stark against the wall as his eyes glaze with Wanda’s scarlet. 

This is vengeance: dragging him in the air behind them as they pull the tower down, brick by broken brick.

 

* * *

 

 **xiv.**  
Stark is a shell by the time they reach the ground. Two and a half days, compressed into hours. Two and a half hours staring at a bomb bearing his name. Two and a half hours in the dark, and the rubble and the dust, staring into a chasm only illuminated by a light from the thing that might kill them. A chasm holding the dead bodies of ones loved.

“You did that to us,” Wanda says to him, as the tower makes it’s final form. “You made the weapons, did not care where you sold them. We are what we are, because of you.”

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments!


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